


Alliance

by neichan



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neichan/pseuds/neichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean Renard tries to explain to Nick Burkhardt the realities of being Wesen. A Royal always gets his Grimm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love Grimm, but...I don't love the absolute fail of the Wesen form TPTB have given Captain Renard. A Royal should be majestic in my little world.

If it was a choice open to him, Sean Renard would gladly step away from his place as a royal. His family is nothing more than a thorn in his side, his brothers all jockeying for any advantage they can find. If Sean said he was no longer interested, no one would believe him. Only his own scheming and planning has kept him alive this long. The only way out of the never-ending struggle is death.

Coming to Portland had been a calculated risk. Oregon had no Grimm, and one thing every royal needed was a Grimm. Marie Kessler’s arrival on the scene had shocked Renard. But not half as much as Nick  
Burkhardt’s unveiling as her successor. Marie was a known quantity, Nick had been as well, but now that had changed. Because no one had taught Nick what it was to be a Grimm.

Rage had consumed the Prince when Kessler had literally dumped her responsibilities on his detective. Having a gun, being a police officer in no way was sufficient preparation to live the life of a Grimm. Especially not in the modern world where all eyes were watching, where murder did not go unremarked and where forensics waited to catch any incautious Grimm. Not safe, not now, not today. And not in Portland.

Having Kessler, a Grimm, dying of cancer was remarkable. Renard could not recall if he’d ever heard of one of them dying a non-violent death. Why had she not reached out, taught the boy? Instead she had  
left him untrained and innocent, as good as signing his death warrant. In a city without a royal, Burkhardt would have already been gone. Either to flee, or to be buried.

There had been no choice, Renard had ordered the older Grimm killed. With a Grimm in his territory it would be a sign of weakness if he didn’t bond with her. But he couldn’t, not if she was dying, and her  
talent was passing on to her nephew. The passing of a bond would weaken him too much to hold on to his place.

His only choice was to kill her and then lay claim to Burkhardt. Who knew nothing of custom, who knew none of the rites, who wouldn’t understand that he had to, was expected to, give up his girlfriend and cleave to the royal living in the territory they shared. Or, Renard could move to a new territory, start all over, and probably, inevitably die at the order of one of his own kin. Weakness was never forgiven in his family. In any Royal Family.

Damn Kessler. Damn her to the human hell. She’d refused to acknowledge her Wesen roots, set herself above all being a Grimm, she’d murdered the innocent. Perhaps it was her disease that drove her to do so. And it might cost her nephew his life. It might cost Renard his as well. There was no time to lose.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Hiding from Burkhardt served no purpose. Renard wasted no time calling the other man and arranging a meeting. Nick had sounded puzzled, wondering if his partner Hank was also coming, of course he thought the meeting had to do with work, the only commonality Renard and he shared.

Not for nothing has Renard survived the politicking of the head families of Europe and Asia. He manages to convey the importance of the meeting and the need for confidentiality without making the detective suspicious.

It is less than fifteen minutes later that Burkhardt is announced by the doorman downstairs. The trip up the elevators takes less than five more minutes. Sean opens the door and invites the Grimm inside, not  
really happy about what is going to take place in the near future. His own fate is sealed every bit as much as that of Portland’s newest untried Grimm.

Predictably, as Sean searches for a way to explain the situation to a man who knows far less than any Wesen child would, Burkhardt jumps to precisely the wrong conclusion. He decides his boss is propositioning him. Which....isn’t exactly wrong, but no. Not the point of this whole unveiling.

Renard is forced to show himself as he truly is. A royal is not an easy sight for Wesen to see, typically they fall to knees or bellies, for an un-tutored man...Renard is impressed Nick doesn’t shoot him. Or  
faint when his captain gains a foot over his already unusual height and grows pitch black horns. His skin is finely scaled, bronze and pale gold, save for his black tail, hands and feet. Eyes are darker, a brown that is nearly black, dark, intense and large. The few humans who have seen Renard thus have always had trouble with his third eyelid, the clear, nictitating membrane being too alien, too bestial for them. His hair is the only part of him that is unchanged in color and texture, running silk-soft and wavy from his head, down his spine to cover his muscular tail. His nails click as he walks across the tiles toward Nick. His fangs are white, sharp and strong.

The gun does come out then. Pointed rock solid, unflinching at his forehead. Renard knows it wouldn’t kill him, not even if it were a perfect shot. But he hates being shot, because it does hurt, and healing isn’t instantaneous.

It takes nearly half an hour to get Nick calmed down enough to listen and comprehend what else needs to be said. Once Sean is shifted back to his human form and redressed, things move on, but slowly. All of it, it is too important to rush, too important not to make sure Burkhardt believes. Sean can’t afford the slightest misunderstanding. Trust is essential. There can be no lies, not even a small one to  
maintain his dignity. Renard lays it all out to his Grimm.

Who is having a difficult time believing it is true. More because he doesn’t want it to be true than any other reason, if Sean had to guess. Nick doesn’t have any familiarity with Wesen Royal history. He  
barely knows any Wesen history, either. It is painful. He wishes he could kill Marie Kessler all over again. Did she hate her nephew so much she wanted him to die as painfully and as confused as possible?

It is four in the morning before Sean has the impression that Nick is at last catching hold of the enormity of the problem they share. As a royal, it is agonizing to have to ask for cooperation rather than ordering it. He is not playing his human role, but the role that normally gives him status over every living Wesen in this city and territory. Nick knows none of that, has not the faintest glimmer of how hard Renard is trying to ask. As a royal, Sean is used to demanding, ordering, literally taking what he wants. Denial, refusal is just not something he is faced with as a Wesen. Nick, though, is reluctant, stubborn.

Nick loves Juliette. Renard is his boss. What Renard is suggesting....no. One sticking point is Renard’s lack of...humanness, apparently. As well as their gender. Nick is not gay, or bisexual, or even a little curious. Renard sighs internally. Humans reduce all things to sex. As an unbonded Regnant, Sean has only ever engaged in intercourse to procreate. Gender based preference is not a basis for denying a bonding alliance pure and simple. The thought would never occur to any Wesen. But Burkhardt’s frame of reference is entirely different. He was raised human.

It doesn’t please Renard to hear Burkhardt making referrence to a Blutbad. Who is his main source of Wesen knowledge. Sean will track down this Monroe and speak to him personally. Make sure he knows who the Grimm belongs to. Confusion on the topic of who the Grimm owes his first loyalty to won’t be tolerated. Any tendency toward possessiveness will be nipped in the bud. Or the Blutbad will die. A  
solution that is elegant in its simplicity. Loyalty can not be in doubt.

The explanations continue for hours more. Renard planned this all carefully, timed it precisely. Neither he nor Nick are expected in today. He has all day if it takes that long. They both do. Nick will understand, Renard will keep talking until he does.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

It does take hours longer. Nick sleeps for an hour one time, then two and a half another. Sean can’t sleep at all. He waits, eats, makes breakfast for them both. Showers. Talks when Nick wakes. No details  
are left out, maybe he does skew things, but Sean is a royal, and he sees things as a royal. As he talks he is also learning. About Nick, his Grimm. He must know all that is his Grimm. Each trait, habit, belief. As if it were his own. Surprises can be deadly. They must work as a single unit. Think as one. Act as one.

Nick learns, at last believes, knows that Renard rules Portland territory. The land is Renard and Renard is the land. The people are his, all of them. The ties are deep and binding. To Sean’s delight, it is something Nick already understands. Nick is a Grimm, and a Grimm is just as bound to a territory as a royal. Itinerant royals or Grimm are rare and not healthy, they are mad, unstable. A Grimm without a  
territory is a paranoid killing machine. Sean sees a a personal light in Nick’s gaze when he tells him that. Is it Marie he is remembering? Maybe so.

In the end, or at least the end of this marathon session, it comes down to Burkhardt accepting himself as other than human. That is the crux of it all. Renard sees it when it happens, it is there in the grey/green eyes.

It is late afternoon by then. Nick takes the couch, he is too tired to get behind the wheel and Sean sleeps in his own bed. He is a royal, and guest or not, no one is getting his bed. He will make arrangements to turn the larger of his spare rooms into a bedroom for his Grimm.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

nei


	2. Progression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is something that Renard can offer a Grimm like Nick Burkhardt. But Nick has to acknowledge it first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend more than a single chapter, but then this came up. I've always been a Sentinel fan and Menacherie's "progression" fic reminded me of that. Sorry this isn't long, but my hands are pretty much toast.

When Sean Renard decides he wants something, you can bet he will get it. Even if it takes years, layers upon layers of planning and scheming, he will eventually get what he has his sights set on. For years he’s kept half an eye on and an ear out when Nick Burkhardt is involved. It was harder when the young man was a beat cop, easier when he was promoted to detective and worked under Renard on a daily basis.

Finding out Burkhardt was Grimm...it just explained a lot. And it provided Renard with an excuse to put his people, his Wesen to work watching the man. Protecting him. Grimm were valuable, resources that no Royal would squander. Especially an unbonded one in semi-exile. Renard watched very closely, intervened where necessary while Nick learned his new trade. To have him die this young would be a tragedy.

Renard was pleased to see that Burkhardt was good at being a Grimm, learning quickly, his physical strength far greater than a similarly sized human, the gift of the Grimm. Monroe of course helped, and because of that Renard didn’t crush the Blutbad like a bug when he found out Nick had left Juliette and was living with him. Juliette was one thing, Sean understood the need for a female. It was ingrained in his bones, his cells. But a male Wesen getting close enough to lay a claim on his Grimm...no. It had taken a long, silent conversation to convince himself that the Blutbad was instrumental in keeping Nick alive for Renard to back off. But the Blutbad was warned, he knew to whom the Grimm belonged. 

There were little things, like making sure detectives worked in pairs despite rumblings about the budget, rumblings that had turned to screams with the downturn in the economy. Making sure detectives qualified on the range bi-annually. And slightly more expensive, mandating higher end bullet proof vests. He wouldn’t let his Grimm be taken from him by a lucky shot, an accident, not if he could prevent it by taking a little extra care. Grimm were harder to kill, and so when Burkhardt manifested he’d gained an extra layer of protection. It was a great relief. But not enough. Sean Renard wanted to openly (at least among those in the know) put his mantle of protection over the Grimm. 

Nick was predictable after Renard revealed himself, first as a Royal and second as a Hexenbiest. He’d never been entirely comfortable with that side, his Hexenbiest side. Most Hexenbiest were female, he was a rarity, and a half breed, only his gender and royal blood preventing the Hexenbiest from slaughtering him as a child. Not a comfortable position to be in. 

Vanity had decreed that he reveal his Royal form to the Grimm first, the form he was confident was beautiful and imposing, but later, before Nick left for Monroe’s guest room, Sean showed the detective his other side. It had been difficult to see the revulsion on Nick’s face as Renard’s face twisted and flayed. But the truth had to be known in full. There was power in his Hexenbiest form. Hopefully in time Nick would become used to all of Renard’s sides.

Sleeping with Adalind, a mistake he regretted the moment the deed was done, was another hard pill to swallow. His greatest mistake since coming to Portland and maturing. But he’d been crazed with lust for Juliette, a violent lust that would have torn the fragile human to pieces. Durable Adalind was the only solution, and in his madness he had taken what she offered. Her scent... it wasn’t until later than he realized she had drugged him with her augmented scent by some Hexenbiest trick that he’d not learned. 

Males were not indoctrinated into the mysteries or the spells of Hexenbiest. Adalind had been so ripe, so fertile, he was powerless to refuse her. Male Hexenbiest lived to procreate. It had shamed him all his life, that females wanted him not because they liked him, knew him or desired him, but because of what he could give them. Hexenbiest children. In all his previous relations he had made sure he was given respect and a modicum of acknowledgement, future capital to use when he needed it. Six fierce daughters he’d given them, the Hexenbiest cabal. But Adalind had given him nothing, she had used him and smirked when she left. The male Hexenbiest within him cringed, but the Royal side of him growled. 

Renard had meant to find her immediately after, to ascertain if she had conceived, but she had disappeared. That had made him sure that he’d been manipulated again, playing a part in whatever devious plot she was concocting. Likely an innocent child would be a part of that plan, unless he found a way to claim the child as his rightful property. If it were male. A female Hexenbiest would never be given up by its mother. A male child...he stood a chance of intervening. 

The call to France was long, followed by another, he talked until his throat was dry. He had never made such calls as these in his life, knowing there would be a price for his requests. A cost that would be as high as could be wrung out of him. A price set in the future, at a time when he could least afford it, a painful choice. Another reason why Nick needed to be bound to him as soon as possible. A Grimm who set down roots, who did not run, who did not creep and hide, would not be able to remain unclaimed. And Renard would not give Nick over to the kind of people who wanted him, not even for his child. 

The maneuvering, the politics, and the fact he’d never asked for assistance before gained him a third phone number, though not a name. He didn’t recognize the male voice. Nor the sounds that were transmitted from the background aside from one muted scream. He made no mention of that cry, nor did he allow his voice to falter. For all he knew it was a test. He did let his awareness flow down the connection, so the speaker on the other end of the call knew he had heard without either of them verbalizing it. 

The fourth call was the important one. The others were merely a test of his mettle and resolve. The voice he heard this last time was hardly more than a whisper. And unlike the hours he’d spent on the others, this call lasted only seconds. No promises were made. He hung up. He had done what he could for now. Cunning, ruthless spies were now at work for him. It remained to be seen if they were more powerful than the female Hexenbiest cabal. Few things were, but he hoped. 

Work was busy when he got in, his lack of sleep increased his awareness of the energy ricocheting around him. He had to move to stay alert, to tamp down his fatigue with movement as well as coffee. He made the rounds of his detectives, not seeing Nick or Hank until the late afternoon. Sergeant Wu was at his side. 

Late, Renard felt eyes on him, and when he turned, Nick was looking at him. He nodded and Nick pushed back from his desk and stood. Hank was on the phone and didn’t react as his partner moved across the teeming floor towards Renard’s office. 

Sean left his door open and retreated behind his desk. The barrier was necessary to keep him from touching the Grimm. Nothing so crass as office sex, but needing to lay what claim he could on the other. He ached with the desire to mark the detective, to sink claw and fang into the soft flesh and have Nick wear his mark forever, scarred into his flesh. Once, only once he wanted to set his mark.

“I need to see you. Not here.” Burkhardt was never slow getting to the point. Renard’s revelation only served to make him more blunt. In a way, more demanding. Renard welcomed the familiarity of it. It spoke of an innate acceptance of his place in the Wesen world. Where a Grimm belonged in the hierarchy of things. Even a Royal would give a Grimm more consideration than any other type of Wesen. 

“Very well. When would you like to meet?” Renard remained behind his desk, reaching for his appointment calendar, leafing through it. 

“Eight. Tonight.” He looked over his shoulder where Hank was staring back, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’ve got to go.”

“Fine.

******************************************

Nick was early, knocking on the door to Renard’s penthouse at no later than 7:30. The captain let him in, suspecting it was too soon to insist Nick take a key, but wanting to all the same. The last time Nick had been here Sean had shown him his forms. Standing in front of his Grimm in his Royal form had been a heady experience. Nick’s face had let Renard know how impressed he was. 

“Something to drink? Beer, wine, water? Juice?” Renard offered. He never had milk or soda. The idea of either was...disturbing to him. Fizzy sugar water was unappealing, and stored milk from a bottle or container...nauseating. 

“Sure. Beer. Cold if you have it.” Nick looked around at the huge couch as his host went to get them both drinks. He chose a corner near a glass topped wooden end table and sat. His attention was caught by the intricate carvings of the dark wood, they looked ancient. The wood was dark, it was mesmerizing, Nick barely managed to drag his attention away from it as Renard spoke.

“I do. Got used to it since moving to Portland.” A thing Renard hadn’t managed to get used to since coming to the States was chilled wine. He took out two beers and returned to hand Nick one. He sat near the Grimm, in a wide stuffed chair, the leather creaking as he settled. 

Nick ran a finger in the condensation that quickly gathered on the bottle. The chill seeped into his hand. He took a taste, it was good, a flavored microbrew he’d never heard of. Heady, rich and dark flavored, a little yeasty, strong. Definitely better than the usual piss in a bottle. He memorized the name. Worth having it again.

“So, what can I help you with, detective Burkhardt?”

“Nick. This is a Grimm thing, not a work thing. Monroe didn’t know what to tell me when I asked him. I hope that you will know a little more.” Nick’s face was hard to read when he spoke of the Blutbad. Renard felt his own objection coloring his interpretation.

“Of course. I’ll help if I can.” Sean Renard had to hold down his glee to a reasonable level. It wouldn’t look royal at all to be so pleased that Nick recognized him as a better source than the Blutbad. Leaping to his feet and letting out a shout of triumph would definitely be over the top. 

“A couple of weeks ago, you remember the case with the blindings.” It wasn’t a question, but Renard nodded anyway. Nick knew he remembered. His Grimm had been blinded. He had been enraged to hear of it, pitifully grateful when Nick’s sight had returned. It was a curse that the Wesen had died before Renard could get his hands on him. 

“Are you having trouble with your eyes?” The worry was impossible to conceal completely. Nick’s brows hitched a little and he took another sip, his eyes fixed on Sean. He shook his head. 

“No. No. Just the opposite. My vision is better than it was before. My hearing...when I was blind it was incredible, sharp, I could hear things I shouldn’t be able to. I still can. It never went back to normal. My sight, is so sharp...I just want to know if you can give me any idea how long it will last. I don’t want to get used to it if it’s going to go away tomorrow. Or in a month.”

“The enhanced senses are yours.” Renard said. “Grimm were our police when there were more of you. Then they were so few, as now, that they became killers, assassins, able to go after only the very worst of Wesen. Only to see the worst of us. It is a sad thing, that they must do this. But, a Grimm has great powers of adaptation, ability to gain tools as they need. I would be surprised if your heightened senses went away at all.”

“Have you heard of this senses thing happening before?” Burkhardt asked, his lip riding the edge of the bottle’s opening. It was...distracting. Renard mentally shook himself, continued.

“Legends. Tales exist that tell of Grimm who could perform feats unheard of outside of ritual and magic. Who is to say which are true and which false?” The lip was still there, now Renard could see...he glanced down at his own bottle. 

“Ok.” Nick leaned back. The table caught his eye again. Renard noticed, too, taking the opportunity to distract himself.

“That is a piece I inherited from my father.” Probably the only thing he had from the man aside from the Royal blood they shared. “It was done by a man named Aurnald Farin-Bey in 1618. All of his other pieces are too large to be moved. Four reside within the Vatican’s vaults. Other works remain in Europe in the possession of various royal families, this is the only one not within the borders of Europe.” He put down his unfinished beer, rising from his chair, releasing a small scent of leather, Nick noted. Renard lifted the table and moved it in front of Burkhardt.

The glass top was removed and Sean simply lay his hand in the middle of the table, where a large flat surface had been rendered. His hand covered most of the area, large, broad. The carvings around the edges moved. Nick couldn’t suppress the involuntary jerk away from the suddenly alive object. For all that Renard was watching the table, Nick knew he’d sensed the flinch. 

“He was a magician. Half Wesen, half human. Gifted. It won’t harm you. It is merely a canvas.” That hand, Nick thought, could easily span a basketball. Then, the carvings demanded more attention than the huge hand. 

Nick was watching the carvings change into tiny scenes, stories almost, Wesen writhing across the table top, down its sides, as Renard held his hand flat in the middle of all of them. Mountains, trees sprang up, fell, castles, huts.

“It is a protection, a symbol of power, a scrying tool. Touch it.” Renard removed his own hand and the carvings quieted. 

“I don’t think I want to.” Nick replied. And he didn’t. The table, while it didn’t repel him, also gave him the very strong feeling he shouldn’t touch it.

Renard smiled, small and slight. The Grimm was honest. He nodded and put the table back, replacing the glass top and lifting his warming beer, taking a swallow. The leeching of the cold into heat from his grip only intensified the taste. “Stay for dinner. I have it warming. We can talk more of Wesen things, or work, or...of nothing important.” He shrugged. He couldn’t demand, he could however, ask.

“Sure.” Why not. Nick set down his empty bottle. “But, I’ll need another of these. Where did you get this brew?”

Renard smiled wider. “There is a monastery in the hills of Germany. It was founded in 1160...” They stood together and moved to the kitchen.


	3. Incursion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the reader might note, this fic is Renard-centric. It just happened that way.

The Verrat were a part of Wesen past and present that many wished would retreat forever into children’s history textbooks, or dark tales. But those who wore the mark of Verrat were never so obliging as to vanish when their time of usefulness was past. It was no great surprise when three attacked Hank and Nick. It might have been a surprise to the two who died, that was impossible to know. The Verrat were not used to losing any fight or coming in last in a conflict. The Verrat always won. Taking on a single Grimm and his human partner was no doubt supposed to be an easy target, a plum assignment, an act meant to send a clear message to the upstart Prince who claimed the city. 

Out of the three Verrat assassins, one managed to get away, leaving bloodied tracks all the way to his car. After that he was not traceable. Nick managed to call for an ambulance before collapsing to the ground next to his partner. Hank was out cold. Monroe was called by the hospital staff, Renard by dispatch. 

Moving between the two bedridden men, repeatedly checking both, Monroe was still first to notice the tall captain’s approach. He stepped out of the way well before Renard got to the partially curtained beds, ending up at the foot of Nick’s bed, nervously gripping the metal railing as Renard reached the adjacent cubicles that temporarily housed his injured men. Monroe nodded, bobbing his head and shoulders, almost a bow rather than a nod, gaze darting around the area, very aware of ways to escape if it proved necessary. Only his reluctance to abandon Nick kept him from running, but his knuckles turned white where he held onto the rail. 

Renard was too upset to acknowledge the respect or to take the time to allay the Blutbad’s fear. He towered over the wounded men in their beds. 

Seeing the scrapes, red and raw over the left side of Nick’s face stopped Renard in mid-stride. He didn’t expect the visceral rage which gripped him, fighting his usually impressive control, nor the urge to go up and lay his hands on the concealed parts of the detective, to make sure there were no other wounds unseen, no other purple-red, soon to be bruises that were hiding from him under the ridiculously thin hospital gown. He turned his head, needing to look elsewhere, and found himself sharing a look with the apprehensive Blutbad.

They stared at each other, both angry, lines harsh around their mouths, holding in abnormally sharp teeth. The Blutbad blinked, abruptly averting his eyes and sidled up closer to Burkhardt’s head, all of his attention was focused on the Prince, though he was careful not to make eye contact again. Renard shook himself, the gold haze creeping over his vision meant he was too close to losing control and he needed to reel himself back in. Turning away deliberately, he moved to Griffin’s bedside. Noting the man had a giant, linear knot swelling alongside his jaw and cheekbone. The area was almost ruler straight, puffed up two inches wide, paler in the center, angry red along the edges. Twenty years of police work meant Renard knew it had been left by a tubular object, a staff or pipe, maybe a cane that was really a weapon, not a walking aid. 

Hank’s breathing was even, regular. There were still small patches of blood here and there, though someone had taken time to try and clean him up a little. A glance down at his hands, big with large knuckles, the skin broken and split, he’d fought hard, hit his assailants, made contact. He smelled of saline, iron and sulfur. Renard had no idea which of the men had killed the Verrat assassins. He was, however pleased that they were dead. Carefully, slowly he re-opened his hand where it had fastened onto the raised bedrail. It would create too many questions if he snapped the metal bar in half. It was difficult, but he lowered his hand, put it into the pocket of his coat, turned away. 

A groan drew Renard to the side of Burkhardt’s bed, he was there before he was aware that he’d moved, bending over the Grimm. His vision sharpened gold again, crystal clear, and the deep breath he drew in filled his lungs with the scent of blood and sweat. Very gently he lay his hand next to shoulder of the man in the bed, not allowing the mere half inch of movement that would bring his hand into contact with Nick. The need was immense. Renard could not let it happen. Not here. 

“Hey. Captain Renard.” Nick blinked up at him, left eye not opening as well as his right. He glanced over. “Monroe. How bad do I look?” It was an attempt at a joke. Levity. 

Renard’s face was serious. Maybe he’d laugh later, pleased that his two detectives had essentially come out on top in a fight with the Verrat, but right now it was too soon. Without his permission his index finger unbent, reached, came to rest, mostly curled, against Nick’s arm, heat bleeding through the thin cotton of the gown. It was enough. 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

From the time he was a child, and that was a long time ago, Renard had loved having claws. He’d learned to slide them in and out without changing any other part of his body. He didn’t learn until he was a teenager that that trick was not possible. You had to be fully in one form or the other. He wondered what other impossible things were actually possible, or if it was simply that he, unlike other Wesen, had three forms where they had only two. At the same time, as much as he wanted to crow that he could do what other Wesen couldn’t, he’d been taught, at times painfully, it was much more important not to be noticed than it was to garner the attention that being able to partially shift would gain. 

He was a lot of things that were barely tolerable in the Wesen community. He was half-Royal, half-Hexenbiest, and a lowly male Hexenbiest at that. Only his Royal blood kept him from being no more than a fertility aid for the female Hexenbiest seeking to conceive, at the same time it kept the Royal family from taking anything he said or did seriously. Ultimately he wasn’t eliminated simply because he wasn’t important, and there were bigger fish to fry. When he moved to Portland and became a niggling thorn in many sides, distance protected him and the fact he wasn’t trying to claim any of the Old World kept him alive during the earliest years while he gained power and stability. 

Asia, Europe and Africa were off limits to a half-breed bastard. The Americas were not so long as he kept a low profile, made no challenges. When the time came to flee, he’d left Europe quietly, and made sure there was hardly a ripple in his colonization of Portland and of Oregon itself. It was good country, good land, and he found himself not missing the trees and mountains of his homeland. Oregon had more undeveloped land, more rivers, more places for Wesen to run free. He was quickly at home, but he remembered being a child and never relaxed, never displayed himself, never showed off. 

But Wesen knew. Sensed that a Royal had come to lay claim. They waited nervously for edicts and strife, but what Renard wanted was peace and a law abiding citizenry living under his rule. Warmongering was not encouraged, territorial disputes not rewarded. Reapers were forbidden without his express permission, and the Verrat were not encouraged. Yet, both Reapers and the Verrat had felt able to enter his territory without invitation, invading his capital city and attacking his police force. And his Grimm. 

He’d debated for a fury-riddled instant sending a flock of the hollow-boned up to scan the area, but the little fliers were too recognizable, too un-cleverly primitive and too easy to kill. Once he’d calmed some, he decided that having the wounded Verrat return to its Master a failure served him better even than the entire team vanishing without trace. Word would spread. Just as the Reapers before them, the Verrat were not welcome, nor tolerated in Renard’s territory, they would not leave unscathed. 

He slid his claws out again. Examined the gleaming arcs, the light glinting off of deadly, powerful curves, steely tendons raising along the backs of his hands. All his life he’d been used, ignored, brushed aside. This last decade had been different. He was not going to let that change. He was a ruler. Oregon was his. Portland was his. He would defend it all. To the death. That included his people and his Grimm. Those who were his were sacrosanct, that word would get out. 

The Grimm. Nick. His. The smile came unbidden. Secret and warmer than most of his hard-eyed expressions. The Grimm was a step closer to being his. The female he’d lived with continued to reject returning to the association they’d shared and though she’d moved on, Nick had not found another to replace her. This allowed Renard his opportunity. His chance to claim the Grimm as fully his own. He’d only bred in the past, not being able to risk other liaisons. Perhaps, if handled delicately, he could take that chance now. Form an association with the Grimm that was not based on mere procreative drive. It intrigued him to think of it. His body responded, a gentle redirection of blood flow, not complete arousal, not yet, but the possibility very close. 

Renard rumbled his satisfaction, sliding his claws out, in, out. Bronze rippled up over his hand, a scale-mailed fist, horns sprang powerful from his skull. He stood, disrobed in the dark of his apartment and let the full change overtake him, until he stood huge, gleaming, erect, the curve of his sex aggressive, wet-sheened copper, male. He threw back his head, bared his fangs and let free his subsonic roar, all the windows of his building shaking in their frames. 

Wesen all over the city woke, sat up in their beds, stopped their work and exchanged alarmed looks. All knew they had a Prince here, a few had seen him. None had heard his roar. Until this night.

Monroe and Nick stopped eating their late night meal. Monroe pausing in the midst of lifting his wine glass to his lips. Nick’s eyes grew huge in his bruised and still swollen face. Their gazes locked as the not-sound vibrated across goose-bumped skin. In a jerky movement, Monroe finished lifting his glass, draining its entire contents. An angry Prince was not a good thing. 

Gradually, as the call was not repeated, Wesen in the city of Portland settled back in their beds or to their tasks. Husbands and wives grasped hands, checked children. Those alone kept to the shadows, sought shelter.

Miles away, a lone Verrat huddled down in the abandoned warehouse he’d found refuge within. His healing was slow and he hadn’t been able to risk seeking out help, but his wounds no longer gaped, now cleaned and glued shut. The rusted structure had an unfortunate family of rats he’d managed to hunt and live off of, luckily where there was one rat there were always many and he was a survivor. If rats he had to eat, then he would eat rats. Soon he would have to leave, flee out of the state before another Wesen stumbled across his hiding place. He didn’t dare fly out of Oregon, word would get back to the Royal if he tried. Perhaps Washington would not be so closely watched. He settled back on his heaped pile of leaves. They were dry, it was enough. He waited. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very hard time writing this, mom is hospitalized. Distracted. Sorry.

Nick Burkhardt has no idea what is happening. Sean Renard knows that. Now that the Grimm and the Regnant are in proximity, now that they share space, food, company the process of bonding has begun. It is inexorable. There is no way of stopping it, reversing it, or preventing it once it has commenced. Not without one of them dying. Barring death, the process must continue until its conclusion, its end is achieved. And the Grimm has not realized.

Sean Renard has waited his entire life for this. He doesn’t understand how the Grimm fails to feel the connection slowly tying them together. But Nick can’t, and now again, Renard feels he must tell him what occurs between them, point out the obvious. He knows his Grimm. Burkhardt will be angry, he will protest, defy the bond, but he will not leave. Portland is his territory, too. 

Waiting is not hard, Renard has learned to make the most of excess time since childhood. He was always the one to wait, the least pure, least favored, first forgotten. He uses the time he must wait to julienne carrots, sliver yellow onions, and pick through the button mushrooms before slicing them precisely one eighth of an inch thick. The heating oil is fragrant, he tosses in the carrots first, softening them a little before adding in the slivered onions. Instantly the fragrance in the kitchen is doubled, tripled, and his mouth begins to water. The mushrooms go in next, with a touch of mushroom stock, a few spices that thicken the richness of the smells filling his home. The tender bok choi greens slip into the mix. 

Scallion greens are quickly cut to thin dark green threads that will garnish the dish and set aside. The rice has cooled over night and now he goes to get the covered glass bowl. He loves the nutty scent of jasmine rice with the visual of split kernels of wild rice mixed in. The rice mixture goes into the wok with a hiss and he tosses it all together. The mushrooms are still pale, but softening, the carrots adding a visual contrast to the rest. His favorite moment is when he adds the garlic, some would say late in the cooking, but he doesn’t like the bitterness of garlic cooked too long. Corn starch with a touch more stock adds a sheen to the vegetables. A little pepper. A dash of soy sauce. Two bowls filled. Ribboned scallions on top. Steam rising. He smiles. Nick lets himself in the door. 

There is a generous serving of the rice for each of them, and enough for leftovers tomorrow, perhaps with a seared white fish. Nick doesn’t hide how he is salivating, drawn to the kitchen table, shrugging out of his jacket, slipping out of his gloves. He washes his hands and joins Renard at the table. Neither man talks as they eat. It isn’t necessary. Renard wishes Burkhardt knew the why of it, of this ease they have. It is the same reason why he knows how much his Grimm likes this offering of rice and vegetables. It is the same knowing that leads him to open the right beer for each of them to enjoy. Nick experiences the growing bond, but he doesn’t see it. Or acknowledge it. 

After the few dishes are taken care of they move into the living room and the seats. They each have another beer at hand. The couches are comfortable, welcoming. The lighting dimmed, relaxing. Renard sinks into his favored leather chair. He doesn’t miss the sigh that escapes Nick, and looks over in concern. But the other man’s expression is not one of distress. More the opposite. It is satisfied. Unguarded. Would that it were always so. But it can’t be. 

When he felt the first tendrils of connection, Sean could barely breathe, while he’d expected it to happen, he was reluctant to really hope. It was too risky to believe, too horrifying to be wrong. He needed it, wanted it so much. And...now. He had to put it into words. The need, the feelings, the reasons, the ritual, the meaning, all of it. He had no idea where to start. Where was the beginning? Shit. He wondered if he’d be the first Regnant to bore his Grimm to death just trying to explain. 

The lights of Portland shimmer six floors below, spreading out widely. Not like Paris, not like Milan, nor Munich, not any of the other great cities where his family members live. Portland is unique, it calls to him like no other place he’s been. Maybe that makes him a hick, without sophistication or polish, like his brothers have always claimed. Those of them who are still alive. Sean is not the only one to be threatened. He has survived, he has made himself a home, a city, a kingdom. He is the only brother who doesn’t have to pay a tithe to the family, because Portland was unclaimed before he came here. Not without Wesen, but without a Royal all the same. 

“You were right.” The words come unexpectedly, and Sean turns to watch how Nick swirls his beer bottle absently, his gaze is fixed on Renard. 

“About?”

“My hearing. And vision. Both are still phenomenal. A lot better than they were before.” Nick is happy about it, his voice is lazy, pleased, his head resting against the back of the couch. 

“Great. It is useful, I hope. But, I wouldn’t let that news out.” It is important he does not. Not until their bond is complete. Others will covet an enhanced Grimm. Or will feel the need to kill him to deny Renard his service. Sean will not let that happen.

“Hank knows. He was there, he and Monroe. Rosalee. You. No one else knows.” Nick drinks, a slight frown marring is brow. Sean watches a drop of moisture trickle down the side of the bottle next to Nick’s thumb. There is a bruise, under the nail, covering the whole area. Renard tries to think back, to any word of an injury, any worker’s comp paperwork that might of crossed his desk. He comes up with nothing. He wants to ask, but...he doesn’t want to be the Grimm’s parent, he doesn’t want to fuss. But...he does want to, really. 

“Your other senses? Taste, smell, touch? Any differences that you’ve noticed?”

Nick is shaking his head, when his brow suddenly furrows, then smooths. The astonishment is beautiful when it crosses his face, the smile is happy. Sean has to smile back, just a little one. 

“Yes. That is what it is. Food. I like your food. A lot. Never used to matter much. I’d eat anything. Now, can’t remember the last time we stopped for fast food, Hank and me. Tastes terrible.” He looks down, shakes his beer faintly. That is awe Renard is seeing. He likes the look of it. Nick speaks again. “This, this is really good. I’ve always been Ok with cheap stuff. But, wow...this is great. It tastes great!”

Sean Renard wants to move over to him, to put his hands on the couch back, lean down and touch his mouth to that astonished smile. He wants to be only inches away from the man, he wants to slowly, slowly lower his body onto the other’s body, until they are pressed together along their whole length. He wants them touching all over. He wants it more than he can measure.

What he says is: “Let me have your hand.” 

Nick stares at him, smile gone that fast. “What? Why?” It is a sign of trust that even as he asks, he is reaching out so Renard can take his hand.

It would be so good to lift that hand and press it to his face. Instead, he cups his left around it, seeing the disparity is sizes, then holds his right over Nick’s upturned palm.  
“Close your eyes. Tell me when you feel the heat from my hand moving down.”

The blue veins in the upturned wrist draw his attention. Nick’s hand isn’t weak, or delicately made. It is strong, broad across the palm, calloused from his gun. Sean makes himself look at Nick’s face and not at the place he’d like to test with his teeth, a gentle bite over sensitive skin, just to test the sense of touch, right? It would have so many negative consequences. He moves his right had down in tiny increments. Nick’s brow furrows. His mouth opens, Renard feels like he is falling forward, like he has no control. Burkhardt speaking jerks him back into the moment.

“There. I can feel it, the heat. It’s...wow. This is...” Whispered, amazed.

Distracted, Renard looks down. His hand is still six inches above the Grimm’s. It is extraordinary. It is wrenching when Nick pulls his hand away. He’s excited, but Renard feels utterly bereft as they are no longer touching. He seizes his beer, drinks deep, seeking calm, somehow. He needs to stop this. It is not reasonable to be so out of control.

Nick’s pupils are dilated, but it isn’t arousal, it is excitement, joy of discovery. Not desire. Renard aches as he shares the grin. Listens to the laugh. Nick drinks. They sit in silence for a time. 

“So.” Renard breaks the quiet. “You know Royals tend to keep a territory, take care of it, the people in it. It is instinct to claim it, and to defend it. Oregon is my territory. Portland is my capital. Grimm also claim territories, smaller, like Portland, not the whole state. Your aunt was unusual, not preferring one area.”

“Unusual?” Nick’s face scrunches. “But my mother doesn’t have...” He stops, alarm spreading over his features. Ice flows through Renard. 

“Your mother. Are you telling me...she isn’t dead? Your mother is alive? She is Grimm?” Sean’s eyes widen in realization. “She doesn’t have a territory? She is itinerant as well?” It isn’t good, two members of one bloodline wandering, untethered. If Nick....but no. He is here, in Portland, has been for years, and he has work here, had a girlfriend, plans to settle. He is not a wanderer. He will not leave. He is tied here. 

“I won’t tell you how to find her. I won’t let you hurt her.” Nick is adamant, angry, defiant. He isn’t leaning back or relaxed any longer. His teeth are gritted. Sean finds it arousing, to his chagrin. He likes this side of his Grimm. But it isn’t just about the safety of Nick’s mother. There is more at stake.

“And when she comes here, will you let her kill me?” Renard knows he has to be blunt, fancy verbal fencing will not get his message nor his fears across. “She will try to kill me. Will you stop her or will you aid her?” The pain in his chest is growing.

“Kill you? Why would she kill you?” Nick doesn’t meet Renard’s gaze, and the Regnant feels true fear race through him. Surely...no. It can’t be taken away like this, before he has even had it.

“She has already been here, hasn’t she? She has killed some of my people. Did they at least deserve to die? Or were they innocents?” It is unbearable. The silence is long, but for the thunder of his heart in his ears, beating so hard he knows it is visible along his throat. Nick stays silent.

“Nick.” Renard is ashamed that his voice breaks. But it also makes his Grimm look up. Renard doesn’t want to say what he has to say, but there is no reason to pretend. “You have to choose. Me or her.” It is true. Hiding it serves no purpose. 

Nick gives no answer as they sit there in the living room.


	5. Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More truths need to be shared.

When he hears of the fight over the fate of his child Renard feels ill, actually physically ill, a thing that has not happened in a long, long while. He fights it, as his spy listens to him breathe, desperate not to reveal any emotion to the man, loyal though he may be. There is a bidding war over his blood, Adalind is selling the child, wanting back her powers, to be a true Hexenbiest witch again. 

Renard understands the need for power, to protect oneself, to protect what one values. But not...the selling of his child. He shakes his head. It will not happen. It can not. Not even if the child is a female one. For Adalind is not going to let the child live in the shelter of the Hexenbiest enclave, safe. No, she is going to sell to the highest bidder. Sacrifice of the innocent. It can not stand. 

Renard whispers his instructions to the man on the phone with him. He knows there is rage in his voice. He knows that the spy realizes this is no ordinary game of life and death they are playing. The spy will now make the moves that will secure the rage of those who oppose him in this. Adalind most of all. It will be disastrous. 

Perhaps the child is his, perhaps it is his brother's. Sean does not know, and truly doesn't care. It is still a child, Eric's child is still related to him. He has heard of how he was purchased, his mother bought and sold so that he could be born in the coldly correct household of his father. It was not a place easy to be a child. Less so a male Hexenbiest able to take its true form. A future whore, to be sold for loyalty as often as needed, having so little other value. 

And it would have been his life, that and nothing more if he had chosen to cooperate. If he had not packed his few possessions and moved on to the New World, away from the courts, the families, the Hexenbiest seat of influence, where so many females sought true seed, royal seed a welcome addition. 

But there are far worse places. He fears for the child. But his hands are tied at this moment, he must wait. Adalind holds the cards, all of them, at least until the birth. Then there will be a window, an opportunity for whoever is quicker, most vicious, and who has the most terrible allies. Sean can not afford to be second best in this game now being played. He will win, he will bring the house of his father to the ground if he must, for this. 

Nick will have to know. All of it, the sordid truth that makes Royals royal, the darkness that makes Wesen undesirable, the parts that shame Renard down to his very soul. The magic that lingers, that has been corrupted for centuries, twisted the hearts and minds who seek that strength to beat down every dissenter, every enemy. There are such ugly truths in Sean's blood. He wished he did not have to acknowledge them. Yet, now there is no other way. 

If only he knew where to begin. The Grimm is vital to him, his plans, to Portland. Sean has to tell him about Adalind and the child. Has to explain. The right words...

@@@@@@@@@@@@@

The Verrat don't frighten easily, nor are they used to threats. He was not afraid when it looked like he might die fighting the unexpectedly strong Grimm and his human partner. He was embarrassed to be defeated, he had failed his duty. But now...he was afraid. The look in the Master's eye...the things that lived in his eyes...the Wesen did not want to experience. He had failed, his first transgression in six years of service. He was young, yes, but in this war, no failing was ever forgiven. 

Of course there was no celebration when at last he had rejoined his Master, alive. The Master had come to him, to the New World. A huge risk. It could not be simply to retrieve or to punish a lone Verrat no matter how shamed. No, the call had gone out, he had heard it, returned to the Master's fold, and been subject to the rage that burned within the Royal's heart. 

The boot that crossed his throat was harsh, gritty with dirt, and not for the first time he wondered why. Why the Verrat served. Why they surrendered. Wondered what gave this power to the Royals, the command of subjects that couldn't be broken, couldn't be defied by less than the will of another Royal. 

The Master was here. In Portland, a land that he reviled for its new and primitive attempts at culture, at kingdom. A poor land, without a House. Only the beginnings of one. The roots of the House Renard, severed neatly from the old world and rerooted here, growing, deep, but perhaps not yet deep enough, not yet. And here, the Old World prince of the blood was, to uproot the defiant tree that had taken root in the land. To pull it up, every last shred and burn it into the ground so deep it would never again sprout. Never lift a single fragile twig from the soil and unfurl a tentative leaf sunward. 

The Verrat did not fail. Yet here, this time, he had failed. A single battle. Unexpected. That was all it was, he thought. The Master ground his face into the carpet. He felt his skin split, the fibers of the rug digging in, the growl of the Master's displeasure far more cutting. 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

His brother is here. In Portland. Renard is livid, but knows he can't afford to show it. He deliberately keeps his voice neutral when the call comes, letting him know. He had no warning, not from any of those who should have let him know. That is disturbing, Sean thought his network had become better at gathering that kind of information. It does not speak well of his chances in this fight. He will have to do better. 

Rising and moving to the door of his office in the Portland PD, he calls out, sending with the words his will. No better time to begin than now. It might already be too late. He may have left it too long. 

"Nick, my office please." And his voice is such that all the heads in the office turn, all the eyes on him. He has never done this before, not here, truly not anywhere. The Grimm is up out of his seat and on his way with gratifying speed. Hank is no where to be seen nor is Wu. That is not a bad thing, not for the conversation the prince and his Grimm are about to have.

"Close the door." Renard says to him as he moves back around his desk to his own chair. Nick seems to realize this is no ordinary talk they are having and seats himself while Renard is slower to do so. When at last the captain sits he feels the weight of what he has to say descend. 

"Adalind has gone to Europe, she is pregnant, apparently, with a child of Royal blood." Renard watched as Nick's mouth dropped open. "Perhaps mine, perhaps my brother Eric's. It doesn't matter. She is willing to sell the child, Royal blood is greatly valued, in exchange for a return of her powers." A line of confusion is there, between Burkhardt's brows. "Just listen for now, we can discuss questions you have later, I will tell you what you need to know."

Nick nods, sharply, agreeing but there will be many questions, Renard can see, and they have not gotten far yet. The discussion can not be postponed. 

"Royal blood does not dilute. Polite society acts as if it does.... So the child has great value to many. Value measured in gold, in power, in...magic." He watches for an instant as scales form over the back of his hand and wrist, nails become awesome claws, then sink back into human skin moments later. "I have other children. Protected by my family or by their mother's. I have never...seen any of them. But this one, Adalind is desperate. When the Hexenbiest could not guarantee her powers would return, she went elsewhere. Whatever you think of me, I would not abandon my child to the kind of life that he will have if I don't act to defend him." Renard is desperate for Nick to understand this fact. Human values are different than those of Wesen. But not completely alien. 

"Why haven't you seen your kids?" Nick asks, unable to wait for the promised question and answer period later. Sean sighs. 

"I am weak in the eyes of Europe and the seven families. Being in Portland, in America offers me some protection. But I was never sure that it was enough. The mothers were better able to offer protection." It is shaming, emasculating, but utterly true. "Eric has forced things, come here, to me, to Portland." Nick nods. "It was likely his order that sent the Verrat who attacked you and Hank. I think he didn't expect you to survive. A Grimm is important as an ally. Having you here strengthens me. I think my brother is not able to tolerate that idea. That I have a Grimm and he does not." It is a risk, putting it so bluntly, his ownership of Burkhardt. And predictably, he sees Nick stiffen. But it is true, a Grimm is never neutral, not when attached to a territory. Not if in proximity to a Royal. 

"You are...we are..." Finding the words is hard, and Nick is struggling. Renard gives up on the idea of telling him what he needs to know quickly. It is clear that the Grimm must ask his questions as they come up. There must be an illusion of equality. At least in this, if not as captain and detective. 

"We are." Renard agrees with what Nick doesn't say. "Unless you want to throw in with my brother. I can tell you, he is much less flexible than I." Eric does not tolerate independence. He stamps it out as a cancer among his people. The rule of a Royal is thought as absolute by most. Sean Renard is an exception. He knows what it is like, to be less. Alliance is vital. "He has come here to kill me and you. Unless you join him."

It is true. Nick sits in the chair across from Renard. His face thunderous, angry. Well, at least Sean has that in his corner. He hopes. The conversation gets no easier. There are facts Nick must hear. More and more. None of them pleasing. But at least, Renard tells himself, the Grimm has not rejected him outright. 

Yet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean tries to deal with what his brother has done. But Eric's actions may have backfired.

Eric had put his hands on Portland's Grimm. Sean's Grimm. On Nick Burkhardt, in an attempt to steal what belonged to another, belonged to the prince of Portland, Sean Renard. His brother. Sean was not likely to forgive, nor was Burkhardt given that the bonding Eric had tried to force had died unjoined. There was no tie between Eric Renard and Nick Burkhardt, Eric had failed. A tie would have given him some claim to Portland and to Oregon, he'd have the chance to strip it from Sean. Now it was too late, Eric's only recourse was to flee, or to throw himself on the mercy of his brother, to swear a truce. Or to appeal to the Grimm for his life. The naive, untutored Grimm who had not grown up in a house of cut throat politics. Sean was not going to let that happen. 

Eric had consipred with the Baron Samedi to use his foul spit to paralyze and send Nick into a stupor, then Eric had touched him, stroked his face, his throat, his lips, had pressed his own claiming kiss to the parted lips and tried to force a connection. Eric had kissed Sean's Grimm. He'd come within thirty minutes of putting Nick on a plane and into the air headed for Europe. Sean didn't fool himself into thinking that if it had happened that way, Nick would have ever come home. Either he'd end bonded to Eric, doing what Eric wanted, or he'd die. Eric was not one for compromises advantageous to any other than himself.

The rescue was anticlimactic, too many cop cars, the plane blocked from takeoff, Eric angry but aloof, pretending he'd had no idea that a police officer was being kidnapped via the belly of his own plane. The Baron had very wisely vanished, Nick was awake, pounding on the lid of his coffin before it was opened. It was a victory, a flare of triumph warmed Captain Renard when his officer, his Grimm, his future bonded grasped his hand to be levered out of the horrific pine coffin. One more tie between them, Renard felt it fall gracefully, softly into place, a tether stronger than steel. There was no better feeling, but the look of resignation on Eric's face came close. 

In the end, powerful men in France had secured Eric's right to fly home, leaving confusion and no one to charge with assault and kidnapping. Still, Burkhardt was here, not missing and that was the greatest victory. 

Nick's recovery was slower, more painful than that of Eric Renard. The Baron's flight from the clutches of an enraged prince, his spit curse lifted in the wake of Renard's quiet and detailed listing of just what awaited him if the Grimm did not wake, did not return to his former state. Samedi would not return to Portland. He had lived too long to be so foolish. Now the only task remaining, the healing of the Grimm. Sean would see it done.

Nick remembered only turning to see the puffer-faced Baron and feeling the glob of secretions hitting his face. He was also aware of a sense of safety when his gaze met that of Renard and of disgusted anger when he saw Eric.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

It was over a heady wine, garlic and mushroom broth soup that Sean began his direct campaign. He searched for the words and settled on more history to begin his approach. Courtship was not an easy concept for most of twenty-first century America to understand. Families no longer decided most marriages here. Besides Nick had no real family to consult. When he'd decided to marry Juliette, the decision had been his and Juliette's. The idea that Sean Renard was proposing through a long series of acts, was wooing him as blatantly as he possibly could, had not penetrated consciously, though the ties had begun forming. Burkhardt naturally was not truly human, or rather not only human, and the part of him that was Wesen, was Grimm viscerally knew the bond was happening. Given how rapidly he'd accepted moving in with the man was proof of that.

"The basis of the royal houses began over a two thousand years ago." Renard began. "The current seven families were five then. My family was not among them. We are an upstart branch, a reformation of the earliest houses. The other families were traditional, set in their ways. We, my family, came up with a new idea that let us gain the power to challenge for our place among them." Renard swirled the dark wine in his glass. Nick looked interested as he licked his soup spoon spotlessly clean, eyes drifting towards the covered pot on the stove. Sean smiled, rising to fill a second bowl full, stirring in the swirl of creme fraiche, sprinkling snips of chives across the top, adding a ghosting of white pepper. He set the renewed bowl in front of Nick, who couldn't help but lick his lips.

"The House Renard were the first to ally with the Grimm." Renard served himself another ladle full as he spoke. "Before then the Grimm were independent and rarely lived long. From the Renard, the Grimm gained backing, political power and a measure of safety that was unprecedented." Nick looked interested, mouth full, eyelids nearly fluttering in raptures at the taste of Renard's talented cooking. 

Another swallow for the both of them, the wine was excellent. He would see to buying more of this same year. Nick was watching him closely, a beer in his hand, sipping to chase the flavors, he didn't favor wine as much as Sean. His tastes were heathen, Renard thought fondly. But the beer was a dark, rich one that complemented the soup nearly as much as Renard's own wine.

"It is a coup, for a royal to find a Grimm and for them to pledge to aid each other. To Bond." To seal a troth, would be a far more exact word, but Sean feared to use the term at this early juncture. Old fashioned words, traditional ones more than a thousand years old sounded funny to one like Burkhardt. Later Sean would say them, but they were not for the introduction of the subject.

Nick was still, aware that this was important history. His eyes large and dark asked questions. "Is that what you are doing? Asking me to join your battles? Don't I already do just that, captain? I am an officer of the law. I work in your department, under your guidance. Isn't that enough?" His gaze showed he guessed it was not. Daring Renard to go further, to be frank. Sean took a breath and made the plunge.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

An hour and twenty-three minutes later Renard handed Nick his third beer as they settled into their customary places on the couch and in the leather chair. Nick stretched out his legs, Renard leaned back into the comfortable support of his favorite chair. Given the conversation he needed the reassurance of routine, small comfort that it was. Tomorrow even this could be gone, if Nick chose to leave. And shortly after that they both could well be dead.

"I was right the first night." Nick said righteously. "You were, are making a move on me." He did not look as upset about it as he had then. Then, he'd looked honestly horrified. Now he had a wry smile on his face, as if he knew the joke.

Sean laughed. "In a way." He admitted. "But it is more than that. It is an alliance, deeper than a marriage, not strictly a sexual contract." It was hard to explain, but quite necessary to try. Renard grimaced. Nick raised his brows inquiring, but not offering any help in finding the right things to say. 

"Theoretically one or the other of us could marry while maintaining the alliance. We could mate and have children. The bond would be inviolate. It would come first, we would come first with each other." It was almost apologetic, but very seriously said. The smile on Burkhardt's face faded. Sean did not say how impossible the thought of not having Nick close was, how painful the idea of another taking the place that he saw as his own.

"You mean it. This is really a thing? Among Wesen?" Incredulity filled Nick's voice, his face. "So what, you are proposing to me?"

"Simply put, yes. I have been doing that for months. Providing food, a home, companionship. Courtship. But there are nuances I am not sure how to convey. Wesen are not human. You and I are not human in the fullest sense of the word, whatever human scraps of DNA we possess. You have seen what I am, what I can manifest. Between us we have the ability to enhance each others powers. Your ability to fight against wrong, against crime and criminals, your strength as a Grimm. My ability to govern, to rule. We would become more of a joined whole than separate beings." And Renard wanted that every bit as much as he wanted the next hundred years of his life. 

Nick was sitting stunned. Sean felt a rising panic in his own guts. If Nick wasn't ready to handle it, if he fled, there was nothing Renard could do to stop him. His rule over Portland might collapse, or it might survive given that Burkhardt would still be an officer working for him. But it would be touch and go. No where near the approval or sanction a bond with the Grimm would signify. There was some hope, though. Unless Nick chose to work against him. Then all would be lost.

"I don't think I'm attracted to you." Nick blurted out. "I don't want to have sex with you. I've never been attracted to men." How American that it came down to this so mundane topic. But, they were still talking. Nick was not standing, leaving, abandoning his place here in the flat, nor fleeing Renard's side. Not yet.

"Do I repel you?" Renard was curious. "Do other men?" Homophobia had astonished him when he first stumbled across it in Europe as a child. The concept so foreign to him he thought it unreal, a misunderstanding. But it was real and virulent. 

"No. Homosexuality is fine. Women have always done it for me. Like Juliette. But men don't physically repel me, it's just...it has never occurred to me as a possibility I considered. I'm not saying I could learn to like the Hexenbiest part of you. Sorry but that is...hard to look at, and after meeting Adalind, what she did...." Nick shook his head. "I can't forget it is part of you. But the other thing. The Regnant? Impressive as hell. Shit, I've never seen anything that comes close to that. I'm sort of envious." Burkhardt smiled at the memory. "And I recognize that you are an attractive man. But if you Hexenbiest'd on me I'd freak out. I'd probably shoot you. After I threw up."

Renard nodded. It was not a total rejection. He lifted his head and looked directly at the Grimm, their gazes catching. Slowly he held out his hand. Just as slowly Burkhardt's reached out, grasping his. The Grimm seemed surprised at what he was doing. The connection was instantaneous as their hands met. Nick gasped, almost pulling away.

"I don't think it can be stopped. It has gone too far." Renard felt like he was apologizing, he wished he didn't have the urge to do so. It was what he was, what he was meant to be. Centuries of breeding had brought him here, made him what he was. Always the men and women with the greatest ability to bond to the Grimm had been genetically sought out in his family, encouraged to have many children. Other families had other talents, but this was what gave the Renards the power and influence to be royal. 

"Before Marie Kessler came I had no idea you were a Grimm. Forming a bond was automatic, insidious with no effort from me. Neither of us was aware of the beginning. It was not deliberate. That being said, it is good for me, for my territory, for you. I can understand you are angry about not being given a choice...." Renard swallowed. 

"Not angry." Nick interrupted. "All of this Wesen stuff, I had no idea what was going on around me. But even without my knowing it was there. I do belong here, in this world, I know that. The human part of me, or at least the part that was raised human, resents it. But there is this instinct that says this is right. No matter how I feel about it. Like an arranged marriage if I lived somewhere else. If my mother came up to me and said she'd arranged for me to marry someone that wasn't Juliette. I'd be angry, I'd refuse. Because I wasn't raised to accept it." Nick contemplated their joined hands. Shook them a little without turning loose. Renard chanced a smile, another shared look. 

"But all around the world there are cultures where it is done that way. I know that. Wesen are just more that way than I am used to. I feel it between us. I'd be stupid to deny it was there. Some sort of bond. To be honest it is freaking me out that I can feel it as much as I do." His eyes asked Renard to understand. 

"I was raised to believe bonding with a Grimm was the epitome of all relations any royal of my family could aspire to. It was also made clear that I was not pure enough to deserve my own bond. Just as I can not hope to marry into other royal families or marry a commoner, I am not pure enough to get a Grimm." Distantly Renard realized he was still holding his untouched glass of wine. He reached out and set it aside, turning to face Nick more directly. "My brothers were taught what to look for, how to proceed with the bond, to notice it was happening. It was expected for each of them. Of the three that are still alive, only Eric has failed to bond."

"So he came after me, after your Grimm." Nick stated. Sean nodded. That was exactly what Eric had done. It had offended him deeply that his contaminated little brother, barely tolerated by the family as a whole, a bastard son and a Hexenbiest as well, had bonded before himself. "He couldn't kill you, so he tried to take me."

The assassination attempt had been a near thing, but it had failed just as Eric's theft of Sean's Grimm had failed. By only the thinnest of margins.

"What you are saying is that you and me together will keep Portland safer. And us, we will be safer. Stronger. If we are together in this bond."

"Yes."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As is quite usual it has taken me some time to put this together. Sort of a bonding chapter, with no real action. Just Sean and Nick getting used to each other.

Chapter 7

Six weeks since his brother and increasingly vicious rival Eric had fled in temporary defeat, his tail between his legs and his reputation as a winner takes all invader was in tatters. But only when it came to his brother Sean's territory. In Europe he had made several violent and strategic moves that kept the other families from thinking they could move on him. Of course with the enhancement of his own reputation so soon after a loss to his brother, Sean's reputation gained status as well. There was no help for it, no way for Eric to change that. Not yet. Not even if it meant his blood boiled at the loss of face he endured. 

The Grimm had been in his hands, inches from being his, not his brother's. Sean insisted on a willing bond, calling the forced bond mere bondage, nothing noble. What ever it was called, it meant power, and Eric wanted it. Nick Burkhardt had been the perfect tool, but he'd dropped it, lost his grip on the Grimm at the last possible moment. It enraged him to think on it. Eric reached out to his well paid allies for information, strategies, ways to return to Sean's kingdom and get back that which he'd only just failed to claim. Perhaps going in so blatantly, showing off his arrogance had not been the wisest strategy. He was firmly, politely turned away from everyone once he mentioned Oregon. 

The Verrat were unusually reticent, declining to talk at all of plans they might have in regard to the New World. There was time enough. No need to rush. They took care of business in the Old World, quietly, competently and in one case with streams of blood. But in no way were they willing to send even one man to Portland, not even one spy. They would wait. And watch. Someday there would be a new opportunity. Until then they could be patient.

@@@@@@@@@@@@

It was an unexpected victory, this delicate new relationship with Burkhardt, and Renard had no intention of pushing too hard, asking too much too soon and thus backsliding into losing the precious ground he'd gained. Burkhardt had seemed comfortable, until they were in public, around others, then his natural reserve as well as the unfamiliar territory of beginning this something, still mostly undefined in his own mind, with Renard, definitely a man, began to take its toll. He was cautious, vigilant, waiting for Renard to do something that would make him uncomfortable or repulse him. Renard refused to do anything of the kind, remaining courteous, polite and attentive. And never, ever staking a claim in front of Hank, or any other of Nick's friends. He suspected Sergeant Wu had it figured out, but as the other man said nothing, Renard was willing to let things stand. The Wesen of course were aware already, no explanations were necessary. 

Sean was, Nick had to admit, a very handsome man. And he did not push. Juliette had left a long while ago. Nick missed her still. He missed having someone, even if he wasn't ready for another woman to take her place. Guys were supposed to always be up for sex. Nick didn’t feel that way. Losing Juliette was still too great a wound. So, this thing with Renard...it was good. Physical contact, limited though it was, was good, healing, comforting. Without having to worry about sex.

Nick found himself in the throes of a new relationship that was nothing like any other he'd had. On one hand, previous relationships, such as the one with Juliette, had involved strong physical attraction, desire of a sexual nature, wanting to get close, to be allowed that first touch, feel the thrill of blood surging into his erection, until it was hard, so hard, pounding, wanting, needing to feel the soft, slick, snug perfect fit of a woman's innermost flesh around him. Because that was what had always been his turn on. Women, their bodies, their lips, their scent, the feel of sinking into a woman, deep, gentle, fighting the urge to pillage and lose his civilized veneer, fighting not to go crazy with lust, heat, energy. He was a gentle lover, not a ravening beast. He'd always resisted holding too tight, gripping too hard, going too far. 

But then he'd never known what he was, not really.

Burkhardt tried not to think of sex with Renard, found it impossible to picture in his mind. Where Renard would be larger, stronger, more powerful and dominant, dominance was much more his personality than it was Nick's. No, he couldn't think of it, the idea was alarming, frightening. The handholding, that was simple enough, and actually pleasant. Nick had felt a tie between them, a level of comfort that was very solid and reassuring. They had sat near one another, but not on the same piece of furniture, in the living room that was becoming both of theirs and across the short distance, they held each other's hands, and Nicke felt comfort, closeness.   
There had been beer and the floral scented wine, accompanied by flavorful cheeses and ripe fragrant fruit, but not enough of anything to claim drunken foolishness such as hand holding. No, it was a conscious choice to reach out, grab hold, and hang on. 

No love making followed, no tangled limbs or wetly battling tongues, not that night, nor any other time that week. The weeks that followed were more to become used to the new change in their relationship. It was busy, harried and crazy, Eric back in Europe and well rid of, France it was determined was his new hidey hole, keeping an eye out for invaders took up most of the Wesen time, all of Renard's people on edge, alert. Eric never gave in this easily.

There was a late night visit from the head of the Verrat, calling on Renard with short notice. An impeccably dressed older man, with no humor in his face, nor his words. Words which pained him to utter as they were an apology so carefully worded Nick was not sure if it really was one, or merely a verbal abasement. Renard insisted they meet outside of the flat, in a Wesen restaurant. 

Renard listened to the Verrat emissary speak, Nick sitting at his side, admittedly bored. The food, delicious as it was, was the only saving grace. Nick ate well, enjoying every savory bite, Renard and the Verrat leader talked, mostly in French and German rather than English. There was some Russian thrown in, too. Nick was pretty much not needed, and of not much use here that he could see. But Renard had asked, so Nick stayed. 

The dull, dark gold disc that Sean had asked him to wear gleamed in the hollow of his throat, indecipherable runes coiled together on it's front. The eyes of the Verrat representative strayed to the pendant only once, his flat eyes barely touching on the ornament. But Nick noticed how hard the next mouthful of wine was for the man to swallow. 

It was hard to understand the meat of what was going on as the very obvious negotiation continued. Nick guessed he wasn't diplomat enough to get the swing of subtleties that were being exchanged and affirmed or rejected, even when they spoke in a language he understood. After what the Verrat had done to Hank and to Nick, Burkhardt would have been happy to cut the SOB’s head clean off his shoulders. There had to be something in Aunt Marie's trailer that would be perfect for that job, something nice and heavy and gleaming-sharp. He certainly didn't like the distinct feeling that he was more window dressing and maybe dressed-up threat, than actual participant in the talks. 

Truly, Burkhardt found it funny that he was supposed to be a threat when Renard could go all Hexenbiest or Regnant if he chose. Both forms afforded him some pretty intense skills beyond the abilities he had as a human, fighting skills that were formidable enough of their own merit. The Regnant form was supposedly the Royal form, so why didn't Renard flash it?  But no, they got to the very end of the negotiation, the Verrat bowed and left, walking stiffly as if he'd been reamed and didn't much like it but was resigned to the necessity. He even nodded in Nick's direction, catching Nick's eyes fixed on him and genuinely cold, and once more the Verrat's eyes dipped to look at the disc. It was probably unusual that such a man of dignified bearing scurried, but Nick would insist that was the only way to describe the hurried exit. 

Renard was looking at him when they were at last alone. He smiled, his already dark eyes deepening to a velvety, burnished brown.

"What?" Nick asked, voice low. He felt the anger beginning to drain out of him, but it was slow going. He touched the amulet at his throat. "What is this? Want to tell me what it means? He freaked out over it, not me. He wasn't happy seeing it. Seeing it on me anyway."

"I've known Andre for most of my life, as children my brothers and I fled when we saw him coming. I have never seen him run away before now. You frightened perhaps one of the ten most powerful Wesen in Europe. I am impressed." Renard was finally paying attention to his food. His gaze connecting with Nick's, then moving down to the disc the other was touching with two fingers, running the pads over and over the runes. "It is my name, all the names I am entitled to have. Even the ones that the rest of my family would prefer I didn't use, but are never the less mine." 

"Your names. I have a feeling it isn't something I'm going to understand. Why it scared that man." Nick replied gesturing with a licked clean fork. It was going to be a long complicated thing, he knew it, and for now, he didn't think he needed to know so badly. He instead indicated Renard's plate. 

"That is cold. We should ask for it to be reheated." Nick said. He could see the sauce congealing, unappetizing. "Andre, huh? I just know he is Verrat. And I didn't like what he's done to people, some of whom are my friends." The cold glint was back in the Grimm's eye. 

Renard pushed the plate away from himself, agreeing with Nick's assessment. It wasn't worth eating. Nick's own food was nearly gone, he'd seemed to have enjoyed it. He'd also refrained from voicing his objections to Andre while the man was in earshot. Renard appreciated that, the trust it showed. He also appreciated that Nick had let Sean's mark, the necklace, stand without protest. The impact on the Verrat was greater than the Grimm knew. Sean would bet that within the hour the news would spread throughout the Families. 

The wine was still good, room temperature was good for this full bodied red. He swirled it in the glass, then sipped it until it flowed across his tongue and down his throat with promising layers of fruit. It was a good vintage, a good year, and 600 dollars a bottle, but Sean would not tell Nick that. It was not a thing that impressed this earthy, loyal and often innocent-to-the-ways-of-the-world Grimm. 

The waiter appeared, deeply concerned for Renard's untouched meal. It was Nick who suggested a warmed plate. The waiter was more than happy to bring a second plate, freshly made, only a few minutes later, pleased enough to do so that even Nick noticed. Renard found it quite good, though not quite as good as his own efforts. But the dish, large, juicy slabs of Portobello mushrooms, smothered in a dark, smoky sauce, grilled asparagus spears, fat and bright green, baby artichoke hearts, and wide wedges of oven roasted yellow onions drizzled with a sweeter version of the mushroom sauce. The sauces tied it all together nicely. The fresh, seasonal fruit that ended the meal was wonderful, cleansing his palate while complimenting the entree, the melted-sugar drizzled pears a succulent rose gold, the tiny red grapes wet and sweet yet not lingering, washing his palate with their pleasant flavor. Renard finished his wine and they were ready to go. 

The walk back to the flat was along the path of orange lighting, teeming with shoppers. Nick made no objections when their arms brushed. Nor, when the sidewalks became even more crowded, did he pull away when Renard tucked a hand in the crook of his elbow. Between their bulky coats and the poor lighting the contact was all but hidden from observers, though Nick was aware of the warmth that cupped his bicep, the companionable press of their bodies so close along one side. 

They made it to the flat in a short while, and Nick found he would have enjoyed the walk even if it had been twice as long. The crisp air had been welcome contrast to the warmth of their bellies filled with good food and alcohol. This life, strange to him, wholly unexpected given his history and usual desires, was becoming comfortable and comforting. 

They both greeted the doorman and ascended the elevator to their floor. Renard unlocking the door to the flat, ushering Nick in. And it was all there before him. Through the windows of the great room, the panorama of Portland, city and the wilderness around it, the glowing lights nearby, the twinkles farther away. And the roll of great, towering grey clouds, tall and warning of thunder above all of that manmade glitter of city lights. Nick found himself compelled across the flooring with Renard pausing behind him, hand raised to the switch, but hesitant to flip the lights on. In the end he left the lights off and came to stand next to the Grimm looking out over the view. 

They remained quiet, standing side by side. Colors other than silver grey, black and gold/orange were muted into other shades, indiscernible in the night. The moon hung low, a heavy crescent just above the hills. If you looked far enough away there was no sign of buildings, only rolling hills and further away, mountains. Nick almost didn't notice when Sean stepped closer, half behind him, warm, tall and silent strength. The hands that came to rest on his shoulder were large, powerful, but gentle. And Sean bent his head. Nick felt his breath along his cheek. He tensed, only the smallest fraction.

"Do not move away. I will not kiss you. Not on the mouth, but I want to touch you. Please." Sean's whisper stopped him from turning and backing out of the hold. It wasn't restrictive, but, in the darkness it had a deeper intimacy than Nick was prepared to feel. But he did stop. He stayed, and gradually he leaned back, into the bulk of the man, the Wesen behind him. As the moments ticked by it became easier to stay as he was. Then, he relaxed entirely, letting himself, lean, no longer stiff and resistant. Sean held him. 

Nick didn't think he'd wanted to be held. But it turned out he needed it. It felt good. Nothing frightening. More like finding a home.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Nick woke while the darkness still wove its web through and over the city. Gradually he realized he was stretched out full length on the couch, his favorite position in the living room. There was a low murmur, soft with inflections of a foreign tongue, flowing and ancient. Nick could not have guessed what the language was. It didn't sound like any he'd heard before. Warm under the thickly crocheted blanket that covered him from head to foot, he made a small movement that revealed to Renard he was no longer asleep. A big, gentle hand came to rest on his hair, ruffling the silky strands. Nick uttered an involuntary  sound of pleasure, rubbing his cheek on the leg his head was pillowed on. 

There was no pause in the flow of speech. The fingers entwined in his hair continued their soft, soothing exploration. Boneless, Nick relaxed, slipped back into a drowse, then further, into sleep, aware of how good it felt, how nice the scent coming off the man who he rested against. He could get used to this. And maybe...more than this. He drifted off into the arms of Morpheus, quite asleep. 


	8. Chaper 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings after a long while. Sorry for the huge wait.

The image of the ultrasound hits Renard deep when he opens the email attachment, rending his guts in a way nothing has before. He can see it, the child, it is a boy just as he’d hoped and there, on his barely formed skull, are the marks that mean he is a Regnant. This child is Sean Renard all over again. But, the difference is, this boy will have a father who protects and loves him, not one he fears. 

Not even brother Eric could lay claim to a Regnant form. The boy is Sean’s child, his true child. Renard will not be diverted, he will have the boy with him soon. He had no choice but to give up his daughters to the Hexenbiest clans, but not this child, not a son. Nick, when he learned of the boy and that Adalind was carrying Renard’s child... It had been a difficult evening, as Renard explained as best he could. Burkhardt was so human, his beliefs so human. That made Wesen culture and habits a little hard to understand. But in the end, Sean thought his Grimm understood. Understood that being a Royal made all the difference in the world in how you dealt with your offspring.

The child’s existence means that Sean’s plans, just the ghost of them having been laid, will now need to be taken to full fruition. Renard doubts Adalind knows just what she is carrying, she didn’t know the extent of his Wesen forms, only that he was a fertile male with enough Hexenbiest and Royal blood that she could conceive a very valuable child. A bargaining chip to her, a way to get her powers back, to become whole. Adalind has no idea how much danger she is in. There are more who would cut the child from her belly as soon as he has a chance to live outside her womb, than there are those who would bargain in good faith.

It took a long while telling Nick all of it, but now Nick believes that Renard has a right to take his son from Adalind. He always thought that Sean should protect the child.

Foolishly, Adalind thinks the child is simply Royal with a bit of Hexenbiest thrown in, not more. She knows there is great value in Royal blood. What she doesn’t know is that Renard will move heaven and earth for the boy, his heir. The only one of his children to be male and Regnant. Already Wesen are backing away from their own plans for the child. Renard wonders if Adalind has noticed it happening. Sean has been careful to do nothing overt.

The first call he makes this afternoon is short, again much can be said in so few words. The weight of his voice, its timbre tells the man on the other end of the call how serious this matter is. Alliances are now reformed, solidified and sworn. Sean’s blood has bred true.

There is little else to do, the work will be done by others, if Sean sets foot in Europe at this point, it would destroy everything. People fear him in Europe. Instead favors are called in from his distant locale, lives are being lost and positions won from so far away. The buzz of intrigue and excitement is lighting up Europe and those few with Royal blood strong or dilute, are gathering. More deaths will result. It is not what Sean wants, but he stays in Portland, as far out of the fray as is possible. 

Sean Renard is now the surviving Prince with the fullest degree of Blood, and that carries great weight with all of the Families, even if he was born illegitimate. He could, from his current position of power, challenge for a place at the table of the European rulers, perhaps even sit to the right hand side of the head. But he hasn’t the slightest desire to. The Old World is rotten, he wants no bite of that spoiled fruit.

Portland is far distant from the Old World capitals where the other Families reside. The political furor must be stifling in the clandestine meetings taking place. Vienna is draped in mourning, at least publicly. TV stations are still showing the site of the explosion where Eric met his end. Secretly, discreetly, the raptors are circling, prepared for the torn, dangling bloody scraps.

Renard is certain his position is a factor in many of the agreements forged in the next few weeks as he negotiates for his son to be brought to him. He has made it clear he plans to stay in the New World, not return to the old. Long established boundaries will be honored, if he goes to Europe in a far off future, it will not be as a ruler, but rather as a tourist. It wins him many pledges when he is finally believed. The defining moment comes when he reveals he has become bound to Portland’s Grimm. 

Strangely it is the Verrat who confirm that the binding is actual and true and stand by his declaration. Politics have always made strange bedfellows. 

The Families will take the word of the Verrat that Nick is tied to the territory that is Renard’s. It means that Renard will keep his word. He will remain in Oregon, not involve himself in the greedy struggles that dominate Europe as Eric’s holdings, his base of power is being divided among the strongest and most cunning who had waited for just such an opportunity for a very long time. 

Having the blessing of Prince Sean Renard was just the cherry on top for the voracious winners. And for that blessing, all that had to happen was that a child be delivered into the Prince’s hands. There were none who declined his offer of support, not even the Verrat.

The heir is dead. Long live the heir, so long as he remains elsewhere and out of the way, that is. Diplomatic doors open to Sean now, ones that were previously tightly closed. Phone calls are returned by heads of the Families, not just their functionaries looking down their noses. 

Cousin Victor has appeared with all of his political talents and selfish greed, sliding slimy and ready into the mess. Sean has no doubt that Victor will be every bit as bad as Eric was in the end. It is good that he will be consumed with his struggle for power in Europe. As long as it remains so Sean has no problem with him. 

There are three things he will not give up, his territory, his unborn child, and his Grimm. Victor has been given that information quite plainly, so there will be no misunderstandings. Warned off. If he is wise and has any sense of self-preservation he will listen. Sean Renard has no desire to become a Prince in the Old World. It is his greatest bargaining chip and it will see his New World territory protected, his child given to him, and his Grimm bound to him. 

Nick knows very little of the deadly politics Renard is involved in. The Grimm is focused, as Grimms are, on the territory he is responsible for, that is his. Gradually the bonds between Renard and Nick are becoming stronger, more intimate. Nick has settled into his place at the Regnant’s side. No longer questioning the relationship. They work together, eat together, live together. Perhaps one day they will sleep together, have sex. Renard will accept that, though he hasn’t had sex with another male ever, and is only vaguely aware of the mechanics. Keeping Nick content is vitally important. He is the lynchpin for attaining and keeping all that Sean wants and needs. 

Some day their blood will be the same. But that day is not today, not soon. 

A knock on the door draws Renard out of his thoughts. Hank sticks his head in. He is somber faced and unsmiling. His shoulders are tense. He is a good officer, and he still cares after all the years he has put in. Sean lifts his chin in silent questioning. Hank wastes no time. 

“An explosion.” Hank told his captain. “One house involved. There are three bodies in the house that we can find so far. We are evacuating a ten square block area. It’s a mess.”

Renard is up on his feet, reaching for his coat, gun and securing his badge to his belt. This is a scene he needs to see. 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

The mobile command center is set up and information is pouring in, but none of it is enough. Renard makes sure that there are several Wesen officers and firemen doing the actual search among the smoldering ruins. Their heightened senses just may sniff out a bomb or other WMDs if they are involved. It turns out, the family who resided in the house were Wesen. Renard does not like the implication of that.

So far they’ve ruled out a gas line explosion like the one in California. The family who had lived in the house had no record with the law. He was a primary school teacher, she was a high school counselor. Neither had high risk lives past or present. Mauzhertz, rarely are involved in anything risky, rather the mousy Wesen do their best to stay out of trouble.

The three children were seven, nine and twelve years old. The explosion occurred just after 2 pm. If it had been a weekday the whole family would have been out. As it is, there is a search for their whereabouts. So far no bodies have been located at the blast site. The family dog was outside in the fenced back yard, a confused and stunned golden retriever. Alive and apparently unharmed. An officer is gently leading the animal to a squad car, tossing a blanket into the back seat for the dog to lay on. It is likely that the animal will be evaluated by Nick's former girlfriend Juliette, as she is the closest vet.

Luckily the surrounding houses are on large lots. The houses have minimal damage and only small patches of fire, easily extinguished. There are scorched bushes and trees with branches broken. The blown up house itself is a mess. A crater more than anything else, timbers and sheetrock pulverized, wires hanging like truncated veins. The lingering scent isn’t one of a drug lab, or the like. It remains to be seen, why this house was targeted. Renard has heard of no feuds at present. 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Captain Sean Renard pulled Nick, Hank, and a new Wesen Detective Marc Lindsey into his office. He stood up from his desk, looking into each face with piercing eyes. 

“I want to know why, if you are Wesen you are three times more likely to die or encounter violence if you live in my city. I have not authorized any actions. I want it to stop.” He leans his fists on his desk, still taller than all but Lindsey as he does. “Gentlemen, we are not going to tolerate it any longer. This escalation is intolerable.” And it is. If someone believes he is distracted and not able to defend his territory, they will have a nasty shock soon.

“Task Force?” Hank asks, the first to catch on. Renard nods, not one to waste time. 

“Yes. Get it organized, give me a list of the people you want. I suggest that there be a significant number of Wesen Officers, and that they all have level heads. If you think that a human officer is likely to take well to learning about Wesen, then we can go that way, too. I think that there is an outside influence causing this. Not the Verrat, but a foreign Wesen group nonetheless. There are others who might be involved. Find them, and let’s shut them down hard.” He sighs. “I think that Wesen are going to be outed, so lets do our best to appear level headed and not bloodthirsty.” He turns his gaze to Portland’s Grimm.

“Nick, I need you with me. Hank and Marc, get started, let Wu know what you are doing. You can reach Nick and I on my cell. I think we’ll be a few hours, but if you need to call, then you call. I do not want to be left out of the loop.” Renard again reached for his coat, leading Burkhardt out of his office. 

“What’s up?” Nick asks, shrugging into his jacket as they entered the parking garage. Curious and a bit on edge, he had a feeling that something big was going down.

“We’ll talk at home.” Renard says. “I need to update you. Things that Hank and Lindsey don’t need to know.” Nick took the passenger seat of the large, sleek BMW. The vehicle handles like a dream. 

“If it is Wesen business, Monroe and Rosalee need to know.” Nick said. “A lot of Wesen should be told. Almost every kind of Wesen have people in charge of their kind. They can smooth the way for us.”

“I think you and I will hold a conference with a few of the Wesen community leaders. I want all the eyes we can get to be on this.” Renard agrees. There is a cloud hanging over Portland. He doesn’t like it. “Many are looking to choose sides to support now that my brother is dead. I will tolerate those who support others, but I won’t permit any terrorist strikes or attempts at assassination.”

They reach the apartment and enter. Sean hangs up his coat, takes Nick’s to hang as well. “There is always so much I wish to tell you. I wish you had grown up knowing what you were. Then you would accept how very much you mean to me.” 

Nick looks uncomfortable, he really doesn’t get all that emotional with other guys. He’s lived with Renard for a while now, and they are friends, pretty close friends if he is forced to admit it. He has the sense that Renard wants more, but Nick tries not to dwell on that. Because he’s not sure how he feels. No, he isn’t comfortable that he isn’t more uncomfortable. Yes, if he is honest, that is what bothers him. That he, an adult heterosexual guy nearing 30, is living with another man, sharing chores, meals, conversations, even holding hands, on occasion while outside of the protective walls of this condominium. Nick likes doing what they are doing and that scares him. 

Renard goes and gets each of them something to drink. He usually manages to defuse the tension when it starts, has a fine tuned awareness of which situations flip Nick’s buttons. Nick is grateful. And the microbrew is good, too.

Lunch is a romaine salad with freshly made tomato dressing, chopped avocado and threads of scallions mixed throughout. Large, fragrant garlic rolls and a smooth cumin/paprika spiced butternut squash soup round out the quick meal. It is delicious, the smell alone making Nick hope he isn’t noticeably drooling. When he and Hank eat lunch out, there is always meat involved, but Renard manages to make meat free absolutely incredible. 

After lunch, while they are enjoying full stomachs and lounging in the living room, Wesen start to show up, in twos and threes. The new arrivals are served wine, beer, or sparkling water as they take their seats, gradually increasing from one, to seven , to eleven visiting Wesen. There is a massive bowl of ripe fruit, apples, pears, green, red and purple grapes on the table. Walnuts and several cheeses are made available. 

Nick retains his place in the corner of the couch nearest to Renard’s special chair and the beautiful storytelling table. The room is large enough that they all fit. There is tension in the air, but no hint of impending violence. The last fact makes Nick truly grateful. He’s like a great snake, digesting a huge meal in the warmth and sun. He doesn’t feel up to wrestling unruly guests. 

He is feeling peaceful, lazy and totally unprepared for Renard to stand and start undressing. And when the other men and women follow suit it is just that much worse.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I can't express my gratefulness to those of you who have been so patient with my glacially slow pace. I hope that you enjoy this chapter. I felt it was time. Not beta'd, alas. I played with the tenses a bit, and if I missed correcting them all to agree, je suis desole.

The message was brief, the text coming from an unknown number. ‘male child born. evac in progress. pursuit minimal.’

The feeling that filled him, bursting throughout his chest, was immense. Rising, swift, like a shout that expanded his chest beyond what he had hope of holding in. There was a new being, another Regnant in the world. And he was Sean’s blood. He felt the connection that reached out for him as that child drew in breath. And he was humbled by it. 

He looked down at his huge hands, one holding the secret cellphone, screen still lit up with the message, as his eyes swam with sudden tears. Consumed by the need to hold his son, he turned. His office was too small to pace. He moved to the darkest corner where the shuttered blinds cast a shadow Resting his hands on each wall, so he faced directly into the corner. He was trembling.

The shadows did not help to quell his rising need. His wall clock revealed it was nearly five when he looked over at it. He snatched his trench coat, clicked off his desk lamp, headed for the door. He locked the office, skirting the edge of the bullpen, silent, fast, only just keeping himself from breaking into a run. He was past Wu and out the door, somehow unseen. No one called after him.

The grass under his feet in the park was thick, dark green, wet. His city was a place where things grew, flourished. The roses bedded throughout the park were vibrant red, dripping with heavy, crystalline drops. The trees stretched their branches up into the cloud stirred, grey-blue sky.

Renard walked quickly, holding the phone so that any vibration of a new message would transfer through his skin and he would know at once. Here he could pace, and he did, long strides, eating his way over the ground. His expensive Italian shoes were rapidly ruined, the fine leather not meant for water to soak through. The hems and higher up the legs of his pants were saturated, slapping as he strode. And all through his body he felt it, the most wonderful upwelling of joy.

There was no help for it, and he didn’t think as he threw back his head and shouted up into the endless sky, the sound rolling and bursting upwards, leaves shaking, pedestrians on nearby roads flinching, dropping into alarmed, defensive crouches. He laughed. Shouted again, spreading his arms, the smile on his face wide, eyes shut. He laughed, spun. Then he began to run.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Sean Renard was at last standing still in the apartment he shared with Portland’s Grimm, gazing out over the city when Nick got home. A glass of something amber in his hand, as he took in the vast sweeping landscape. He lifted the tumbler and drained it, closing his eyes to better savor the smoky bite as he rolled the liquid over his tongue. 

Rain hit the windows, soft, making gray runnels course down the glass, the sound a light, white noise when heard from inside, sheltered away from the full force of the weather. Portland was a place of powerful nature, not like many warmer climes, too often sunny and hot, drying things alive or not, to blistered ruin. 

He pressed his hand against the cool glass, chill traveling up his wrist, the heat of his hand fogging the pane. He moved closer, lifting his hand higher, making another pale ringed print. 

Renard knew the exact moment when Nick stepped into the flat. The change in pressure, sensation, awareness of the Grimm washing over him, raising his innervation to another level. He didn’t turn, he waited, watching his city arrayed beyond his outstretched hand. Here was the place he was going to raise his new son. His child would walk these streets, their lights would shine on him, one day he would rule the Wesen who also used them.

Nick felt a strange compulsion not to call out as he usually did, unlacing then toeing off his boots. In stockinged feet, he padded into the living room, knowing that was where Sean was waiting.

Sean shifted his weight, crossing his arms, not turning, but Nick knew that the other man was aware of him, knew he was standing a few meters behind in the darkened room. The low light softened things, removed the sharpness, muffled the emotion hanging in the air, every bit as real as the paintings on the wall, the afghan draped over the couch back, the storyteller’s table. Or Sean’s favorite chair.

There was a buzzing, an energy riding quiet in the room, it only grew stronger as the Grimm neared the other man. Sean looked taller, broader, head bent down, neck curved, shoulders like wide granite boulders, a monolith gazing down on the land he protected. Immediately Nick felt more than a little silly at the melodramatic turn of thought. But Renard seemed different tonight. The air was charged with anticipation....

It was like...when the Wesen leaders had come here. Nick closed his eyes hard, forcing his mind not to go there, not to see ~that~ again. Sean had teasingly christened it “The Night of The Naked Wesen”. And laughed when Nick shook his head to dislodged the visual memories. Nick had no desire to experience a repeat. There were only so many bottoms and more he could look at, sagging or perfectly firm, it made no difference. Only so many crotches of both genders, groomed, denuded, or let run wild. Too much. Too many fingers plucking at his own shirt and pants, as if asking why the Grimm, too did not bare himself to their eyes as was customary among Wesen. 

True, he didn’t want to forget the Regnant standing tall while those leaders paid him respect, homage. The huge figure so vast, proud, horns curving up, threatening to spear into the ceiling. That was no sight he ever wanted to forget. That part he’d remember.

Silent, Nick moved to the tall man’s side, close, within the boundaries of personal space that meant he was an intimate of the captain, more than a colleague, on a level that permitted much and forbade so little. Probably the only one to be allowed this degree of proximity without wary, measured observation. They absorbed the nearness together, comfortable. At last, gently, the Grimm laid a hand on the tall man’s arm.

Sean looked at him, glancing over, dark eyes shining like polished black pebbles, a hint of the Regnant that Renard rarely let slip as much as this, golden glints here and there. Even as a Grimm, Burkhardt had been unaware that his boss was Wesen until Renard chose to let him know. Now Nick saw the small clues that his own nature let him see easily in all other Wesen. Nick was sure that was only because Renard allowed him to see. 

An energy was radiating from Renard, contained, leashed, powerful, it crackled under Nick’s skin. The Grimm could feel it all over, a buzzing warm glow, very like primal joy, so fierce. Sean’s mouth curved into a rare smile, transforming his usually somber expression. He set the tumbler aside, now empty of alcohol, and turned back, face glowing. 

“I.... have a son.” Renard told his Grimm. “He is Regnant. Truly mine. I feared...but no, he is mine.” His smile widened and he laughed, Nick saw the glitter of tears in his eyes. “My allies have him in hand. He is on his way.”

“Congratulations.” Nick was caught up in the other man’s happiness. Not sure what to say, he grinned back, squeezing Sean’s arm tight. Renard nodded. Laughed again. Nick reached up, cupped Sean’s face, thumb brushing over wet lashes and cheek.

“When will he be here?” Nick asked as they leaned together. “Soon?”

“Yes. Soon. The flight will land soon. Then they will bring him to me.” He turned his head into the Grimm’s palm, eyes shutting as he reveled in the touch. He wound an arm around Nick, holding him closer than before. Then looking outward again, wondering if he could see the plane that carried his son out there among the thousands of winking stars. He spoke once more, voice deep, strong. “My people are bringing him to us.”

At that the Grimm somehow stepped even closer, until they cast only one dark shadow across the rain pelted glass. Their lives were about to change. Renard’s son! 

A big hand curved around the back of his neck, working carefully at the base of his skull, digging into the tight muscles there, Nick’s forehead pressed to Sean’s chest. Nick had no desire to pull back or put any distance between them as he felt Sean’s fingers fan through his hair.

It had come to this intimacy with not a ripple of unease between them any longer. Nick wasn’t repelled or eager to step back and out of the embrace. It was comfortable, comforting. Developing over so many months, there was no awkwardness as they leaned on each other. 

They knew the little, important things about each other now. Nick knew that brown sugar rum cake was Renard’s favorite guilty treat. And once each month Renard made Nick’s own favorite: dark chocolate and candied walnut brownies, so rich that they were guaranteed to put them both into a luxurious, chocolate fueled daze for hours when the last bit was licked from their fingers. The point being, Sean cooked for him the things that Nick loved.

They healed together, the pains, the stresses, the doubts and fears. Nick had not had that to the same degree of trust and comfort with anyone before. 

Surely he and Sean were a family, the newborn boy would be part of that. Nick wanted it, a family. He loved kids, had always known at some point he’d have children. In the past he was certain he would be the biological father of those children, it seemed his first child was not going to be biologically his own, but his...partner’s. The one thing he was certain of, that wouldn’t matter, the love would be there anyway. 

They stood together, neither wanting to separate, neither hiding.

“Can we talk?” Nick asked finally, giving in to an impulse to deepen their partnership, for reassurance, for confirmation that what they had was much more than it had once been. He should be joining Renard in his happiness and celebration and instead he wanted to ask for himself. God, no, it was a special night, and Nick wanted to be part of it, of Sean’s joy, not asking for selfish things. Nick shook his head. “Sorry. No, it can wait. Can I see the picture? Of your son?”

Renard looked down at him, a look that delved deeper than any other person’s look, more than Hank, than the Juliette of the past, more than Monroe. “Of course you can see the picture. There is something wrong? Can we talk about that first?” Sean took hold of Nick’s shoulders, bending down so they are on a level and their gazes are locked. “What’s bothering you?”

Renard moved them to their customary seats, patient hand remaining on Nick’s neck spread wide and more than a bit possessive.

“This isn’t about my son.” Renard sounded sure. Slowly, Nick nodded, his eyes meeting the dark ones of the Wesen royal. Renard watched him, then carefully, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed, he shifted his hand to run his knuckles up the side of the Grimm’s face. “Tell me.”

And it isn’t bad, it isn’t strange. The feel of Renard’s fingers, his hand exploring. Nick moves his own hand to press the back of Sean’s, turning his face to place an almost kiss on the long fingers. He knows that will be Ok with the other man.

“I can’t tell you.” Nick manages at last, reaching out to hold onto Renard, his elbows, finally getting onto his knees between Renard’s long legs, gripping the tall man’s waist, fingers working until they are knotted in the sides of Sean’s shirt. Muscles shift under his hands, but Renard doesn’t push him away. Nor does he pull him any closer, as if he knows Nick is holding on to his control by a thread. “I can’t. I want you to be happy, your son is coming and I know how important he is to to you, to both of us.”

That quickly, Nick is caught up in an embrace, face turned into Sean’s neck, lifted so even with Renard sitting, Nick’s knees are raised up from the floor. It feels so safe in this hold. He aches, his throat tightening until it hurts. He hasn’t had a lot of physical comfort in his life. Aunt Marie was good to him, but she wasn’t often physically affectionate. For years she was a distant memory, yearly phone calls their only contact.

“Sean. What if I... what if I can’t...? You deserve more. What if...” Nick can’t say it, the words stuck in his throat. He drags in a breath to steady himself and breathes in Sean’s scent and there is a thread of power, scintillating heat that floods into his lungs, fills him. This was what the very rare combination of Regnant and Grimm were, Nick comes to realize. The last year has taught him that what he needs to be is a reservoir of strength and compassion, determination and devotion, and even more importantly, he shares all of it with Renard. With that one thought his doubts are gone. Fled and no longer relevant. It is an overwhelming realization.

“We can get through anything. Together.” Sean says echoing Nick’s thoughts, lips brushing Nick’s forehead as the Grimm reels. There is no worry in his tone.

“Yes.” Nick gets out. Knowing his tone, his certainty is telling Renard volumes. “I’m saying yes. When you are ready, I’ll be here.”

“I know.” The breathed words are a warm breath between their faces. Because Renard has felt the change in the Grimm. “We’ll go slowly.” 

Renard knows. He understands. Hopeful, Nick climbs up into the larger man’s lap, finds it a good place to be. The kiss that brushes his lips is so fleeting, soft it is only a warm touch of lips. Chaste, but brimming with potential and promise. 

There is a second kiss when they both find the first so pleasant. A longer more lingering kiss, still without tongues or urgency. No demands. Both are content to explore this new territory slowly. Nick feels the very different sensation of a faintly rough beard against his own, wonders if he’d still feel it if Renard was freshly shaved. Renard’s mouth isn’t rough, though, not in any way. It is hot, smooth, mobile, real. Instead of wanting less as he’d feared, Nick finds he wants more. 

“You never need to be afraid of me.” Sean whispers, only just loud enough for Nick to hear. He shifts the other man, gently jostling, before he pulls him in closer, kisses him again, still soft, still warm, still good. 

“There are so many things I ‘m not sure I can give you. How can that be OK with you? You deserve so much more.” Nick murmurs, finding himself grateful for this man’s generosity.

“Nick, please listen to me. My life has been very different than others expect. I’ve never had a longtime lover. Never lived as an adult with anyone but you. I haven’t had family that I didn’t have to fear. Knowing that, can you understand what you mean to me? I trust you.” Renard finds his hand buried in Nick’s hair again, rubbing through the silky strands, forming to the shape of his head, thumb finding the intricacy of an ear. Hearing an indrawn breath, seeing a darkening of Nick’s gaze, intense as Sean explores that ear. Maybe his lips would be a better tool.

“Jesus.” Nick lets out. “I want.... That is so good.” He nuzzles into the touch of Renard’s mouth. Shifting, needing to be closer. “Oh, shi.....” 

Renard plies careful mouth and teeth against the helpless ear, then drifts to the even more tempting arch of Nick’s throat. There is no way to miss Nick’s full body shiver, the movement pressing his torso more snuggly to Renard’s own. They are still fully dressed, but definitely out of the PG-13 realm now. 

“You have a kind heart. You are strong. You care.” Sean is still murmuring as he makes his way across the offered skin. “There is no reason my son won’t love you. I want him to have that, to have everything I wanted so much as I grew up. I need you, Nick. My son will not live the kind of life I lived. I need you to help me with that”

All over Nick feels his skin tighten, his body come erect. He has to move in Sean’s hold, twist and feel what is happening to them both. It is a fumbling maneuver, getting himself up enough to kneel astride Renard so he can return some of the sensations Renard’s mouth has been giving him. 

Now he can take Sean’s face in his hands, caress the shape of his face, his chin, the length of his patrician nose. It’s too hard to resist kissing along feathered lashes, the serious brow. He’s never seen Renard lost in passion, never seen his eyes like this, his gaze so intent as they look into each other’s eyes. 

There is no urge to shy away, to flee the intimate moment. There is nothing hidden in that look. Open, revealing. The approach to the next kiss is achingly slow, savored as it finally happens. Nick licks at the lower lip he’s captured with a gentle, brief bite. Taste is a new sensation added to the mix. Nick only wants more of this. 

When the long arms wrap around him, Nick is reminded just how large the other man is. The length of his thighs, the breadth of his chest, the strength of the body is not frightening. He wants this, craves the newness of each difference discovers. Nick has never been the smaller partner. It’s more than interesting. 

They stay like that, in an embrace tempered by occasional kisses, until Sean’s phone pings where it lies on the table and Renard reaches for it. 

“They are coming up.” Renard says. Nick stands up, then Renard does. 

They move towards the door. It is only a few minutes before there is a knock. Renard’s hand is actually shaking when he undoes the lock and opens the door.


End file.
